Growing up in a suburb of Osaka backed by mountains, all the boys in my neighborhood were obsessed with catching and playing with beetles during the summer. There were no air conditioners or computers at home back then, so we spent our days outdoors - playing baseball or running through the mountains when we weren’t taking a siesta.

Beside first base at our community park stood a sawtooth oak tree on a small hill. Sap constantly oozed from the exposed core wood where giant hornets had peeled away the bark, giving off a strong, distinctive smell - a feast for insects of all kinds.

Whenever we had the chance, we’d take turns checking the tree. If you were lucky, you might find a beetle - a true prize. It was always a competition. More often, though, we’d find only a swarm of giant hornets coming and going with a loud buzz, busily chewing through the bark for more sap.

To us, they were obstacles. So we turned it into a game - killing them with our sneakers. Most of us wore flat canvas shoes, so we’d take one off, grip it by the heel, and swing with full force. It was thrilling, but also a test of courage. One by one, we took turns trying to knock them down.

There was one kid known as the “King of Beetles.” Every summer, he had dozens in his collection. He would get up as early as five in the morning, climb the mountains alone, and check every known tree. He was chubby, had a shaved head, and was deeply tanned - he looked as if he lived in the wild. He was probably the one who started the hornet-bashing game. One day, he missed, and a hornet stung him on the eyelid. To drive them away, he frantically threw sand in all directions. The next day, we saw his left eye swollen like a golf ball. After that, none of us dared to bother the hornets again.

Decades later, I still remember those summer days vividly. I still feel a flicker of excitement whenever I see beetles. They’re drawn to bright lights, often gathering around train stations at night. Not long ago, I found a nokogiri kuwagata - a saw stag beetle - lying upside down on the platform floor. I heard a small thud, as if something had fallen - it had dropped right in front of me. Covered in spiderwebs, it must have struggled to escape before falling by accident.

It felt strange that I didn’t have to look for one this time - it came to me, almost as if it wanted to meet me. I picked it up gently, admired it for a moment, and placed it among the leaves of a tree behind the station as my train pulled in.